


meet me in the hallway (my sweet prince)

by vineasphodel



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Drinking, First Love, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-04-19 20:53:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14245527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vineasphodel/pseuds/vineasphodel
Summary: “Ladies,” Harry begins, his voice deep. “I’d like some alone time with Prince Zayn.” The intensity of Harry’s gaze is almost too much, exposing Zayn and all of his vulnerabilities. He shies away, hands behind his back, shoulders hunched and chin down. Prince Harry definitely lived up to his mysterious reputation.“Is everything alright,” there’s a pause mid-sentence, Harry licking his lips. His eyes drag over him when he finishes, “your Highness?”or zayn's a musing prince who's more interested in books than politics. but when the reality of his arranged marriage settles in, zayn has to come face to face with the incredibly charming prince harry, his new husband.





	meet me in the hallway (my sweet prince)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluebrightblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebrightblue/gifts).



> this one is for bluebrightblue. it was a long and stressful journey. and although it was hard, i had a blast writing it i hope you enjoy it. xx.

_"_ i _realized_

_there is no shame in being honest_

_there is no shame in being vulnerable_

_it’s the beauty_

_of being human”_

\---- ( _via **[honeyandsorrow](http://honeyandsorrow.tumblr.com/post/150217231608)**_ )

 

The garden is full of royals when Louis enters. There amongst the bushels of flowers, sat at the brunch table is King Malik. Assortments of cured meats, pastries and fruit are stacked on the crystal in front of him, the aroma of salt and freshly baked bread heavy in the air despite the surrounding scent of dirt and roses. Louis bows immediately gaze apprehensive as his eyes flicker among the guards and the royal court.

“Your Majesty,” he starts, standing straight again, hands behind his back respectfully. “You summoned me.”

King Yaser Malik licks his lips and sets his teacup down on its saucer. His expression is hard, lines etched deep into his forehead. “I wish to ask you, your Grace, the status of my son?” There’s a pause. Louis’ eyes narrow, lips pursing slightly under the King’s gaze. The question is vague, but over the course of the past year, Louis’ aware of just what status he refers to. But as if needing clarification, the King continues, “You spend quite a bit of time with him. Has he shown any interest in a husband yet?”

Clearing his throat, Louis straightens his back a little more, squaring his shoulders. The anxious answer sticks to the roof of his mouth. The King waits with his eyes locked on him, stirring his tea with patient fingers.

The weight of the court presses on Louis’ chest. “It appears to me, your Majesty, that he has not.”

The King hums, picking up a spoon to swirl the last bit of contents of his tea. His face becomes, to Louis, unreadable though the tension makes it clear. He places the spoon on the saucer, metal clattering against glass and Louis swallows thickly, waiting for what all of this has to do with him.

“I see,” the King begins, picking up his teacup. Tipping his head back, he downs the rest of the tea. “Then perhaps you should… show him a bit of guidance.”

A beat passes, Louis furrowing his brow. The Kings word choice dances at the front of Louis’ mind. Parting his lips, to speak, Louis stops himself. There’s a pause, he closes his mouth before opening it once more, gaping like a fish. “I--I am not sure I understand what you mean, your Majesty.”

“I arranged a party,” the King started, waving his hand. Several servants step forward and begin to clear the table before him. Louis watches longingly as the puff pastries are taken away. “Three houses will be invited. Therefore, three princes for my son to choose from. I trust that you could influence him to be less interested in his studies and more… _enthusiastic_ about politics.”

Louis’ hands unclasp from behind his back and come to rest at his sides. “You wish… I play _matchmaker?_ ”

The King’s gaze is unwavering. “Precisely.”

 

* * *

 

There’s a room on the east side of the manor that overlooks the courtyard. Zayn sits on the bench underneath the window, arms crossed on the window sill and his head sitting on his hands. The curtain is pulled back by a fraction, a stream of afternoon sunlight seeping into the room and casting a soft golden glow against the orange floral print wallpaper. Zayn watches the people of Malik Estate enter and exit through half-lidded eyes, the clicking hooves of horses and creaking of carriages a distant echo to his ears.

A door to the room opens and Louis steps inside. Zayn picks his head up out of his hands to look at him, watching as Louis approaches him. “You look feverish, my grace.” Louis pauses, bowing respectfully and Zayn makes enough space on the bench to make room for his friend. “I heard of your meeting with the King. Is everything well?”

“Yes, well,” Louis chances a look at his friend, scratching at his cheek to try and find how to break the news that he must choose a suitor to be wed.

It is obvious to anyone with eyes just how stunning Prince Zayn really is. His dark hair hangs beautifully over his forehead, long thick lashes lining his yellow-amber eyes, skin an enchanting fawn. It is the law for Zayn to marry and the King is being kind enough to let him choose who Zayn would want best, as not everyone got the choice to be so lucky. Louis ponders for a moment what might be the source of all Zayn’s distress, the reason why he is often so closed off around others, preferring his own company. He eyes by Zayn’s knee a copy of A Tale of Two Cities, the cover new and fresh.

“Ah,” Louis reaches across him and grabs the novel, turning it over in his hands and skimming through the pages. He feels Zayn’s gaze on him, watching curiously, fingers twitching as if waiting to snatch it from his very grip. “You are quite the reader, your Highness. I never see you without a book with you.”

“Yes,” Zayn starts, sitting up straighter in his spot and placing his hands in his lap, though Louis could see the tension in the prince’s shoulders. “It is quite therapeutic, your grace. Perhaps you should read more yourself.”

Louis barks out a laugh and a crack of a smile starts at the corners of Zayn’s lips first before he breaks out into one. “I am a more social creature, your Highness. You of all people should know that.” He hands the book back to Zayn, who places it in his knees and holds it there. A beat of silence stretches between them, Zayn looking away shyly. Louis keeps his eyes on him and the sound of carriages approaching can be heard from outside. “I must confess that my conversation with the King, your father, was purely out of concern for you.”

Zayn does not meet his eyes. Instead, he runs his fingers over the front cover of his book, plenty more like it in the library on the third floor. Heart beating hard in his chest, Zayn could already guess what the King had spoken to Louis about Zayn’s dismissal of finding a husband.

“You are not much of a reader of people, are you, your Highness?”

“Reading books are easy, your Grace. I find it much harder to listen and decipher people when they can be so unpredictable and,” Zayn trails off, licking his lips, “Unsettling.”

Louis hums, brows furrowing as he thinks. “I see But… how may I put this, your Highness? Surely you must be at least a little interested in others.”

Zayn heaves out a sigh then, turns the book over in his hands once, knee shaking like everything just finally clicked. “I know what this is about, your Grace. My father is worried about why I have not yet married, why it appears to him that I’m not interested in politics, why I’d rather be in the library than to be seen mingling at a party.”

“You know, your Highness, the King has nothing but the best of intentions. Your house must prosper, and in order for the King to ensure that, then you--”

“Must marry.” Zayn finished, a softer sigh leaving his mouth and he tosses the novel aside on the bench. Louis smiles sadly, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing the tension Zayn harbors out with his fingertips.

“The King has prepared a ball in your honor for your birthday. Invited are three houses, a prince in each house. He expects you to choose one of these three princes to be your husband before the week is out. He has called upon me to be of guidance to you.” Zayn swallows tightly and meets his friend's eyes. Louis continues, gaze unwavering, “I regret to inform you, your Highness, that although you have no interest, you _must_ choose a husband.”

 

* * *

 

In the days leading up to the ball, Prince Zayn spent most of his time cooped up in the library. During meals, he would remain silent and stare deeply into his plate looking pensive. Most food would go untouched by him and whenever the King made effort to get the prince involved in any social activities, Zayn would politely decline, book in hand. The King would never press any further, but it was clear in his expression that he was not pleased with Zayn’s actions.

But in Zayn’s defense, it was purely out of nerves. Zayn is used to the silence of solitude. It was a challenge to engage socially, an introvert rather than an extrovert. He did not have to think about how to interact with books. He wasn’t expected of anything from books, but people were different. As a prince, he had his duties, his responsibilities and there were many people that expected him to fulfill these duties and responsibilities. And then one day, he would have to marry another prince and conceive an heir to the throne. These were are anxieties Zayn had to face on a day to day basis, and the only thing he could confide in, the only thing that did not ask anything of him but only to listen, were the many books littering the bookshelf and, the latest novels, brought to him from town as gifts. As a sort of goodbye, Zayn spent his hours in the library. He powered through books he hadn’t gotten the chance to read, flipped through the passages of his favorite novels in nostalgia. Louis thankfully did not try to stop him.

On the final day before the ball, Louis entered through the doors to the library. Zayn sat in the middle of a stack of books, looking up at Louis through his glasses, mouth gaped in mild surprise and nervousness. “They’re here.”

There was a moment of pause before the two bolted toward the room that overlooks the courtyard, eagerness flooding through their bloodstream. Cramming together, they knelt upon the bench and watched as four carriages parked in the courtyard. Zayn was informed by Louis what houses the King invited and what the princes' names were. The first was Prince Liam of House Payne. The next was Prince Niall of House Horan, and the last was Prince Harry of House Styles.

“I heard quite the rumors of Prince Harry,” Louis starts excitedly, shifting his knees on the bench cushion. “Apparently he was in the navy. Can you believe that?”

“Navy?” Zayn asks in a mutter, eyes narrowing as guests start to file out of the carriages.

But Louis doesn’t spare him the time to discuss Harry further. “There! That’s Prince Liam.” Louis points to a man climbing out of the carriage. His brown hair was slicked back and he brushes the front of his navy blue suit. The gold trimmings around his shoulders is of a prince’s appearance. Another prince steps out of another carriage and Zayn points at him through the glass of the window. Dressed in a deep green, Prince Niall’s attire is complemented by the bronze and orange hues of fabric and jewels.

The door opens then, startling the two men from their spots on the window seat and they turn at the noise with wide and juvenile eyes. Two guards stand before them, an amused expression on their faces as they bow.

“The King summons you, your Highness.” the first one tells them. Zayn grabs Louis by the wrist and the two of them file out of the room, one guard leading them while the other follows closely behind. The are led into the throne hall, King Yaser standing in front of his seat. Zayn immediately takes his side, the King’s right hand, and Louis takes Zayn’s right. Guards take their place and like clockwork, the neighboring houses enter.

House Payne enters first. The Prince is escorted into the hall, his shoulders drawn, chin up. Prince Payne walks through the room like there’s something stuck up his bum. Zayn smirks to himself at the thought.

“Prince Liam of House Payne.” He introduces himself, proud and voice so delectably smooth. His face is gentle, Zayn notes as he allows his gaze to skim over him, stubble visible along his jawline. But Zayn does not get to notice too much about Prince Liam just yet. The next royal house comes striding into the room, House Horan. Prince Niall introduces himself at the front, entering the room with enough confidence to fill the entire hall. The wide and welcoming smile on Prince Niall’s mouth warms Zayn’s insides, and when Prince Niall bows, he does it with not only his whole body but with his whole spirit.

“Prince Niall of House Horan.”

“It is splendid to meet the both of you,” King Yaser begins ardently, “But it appears that there is still one more house that is missing from our company. Please,” he extends his arms out, “Make yourself at home and tomorrow the festivities begin.”

Bows are exchanged and people begin filing out of the throne hall. Zayn stays by his father’s side, unmoving, waiting for the two princes. He catches Louis’ eye and gives him a nervous smile, not knowing what to make of this bizarre situation. In the past, Zayn had to mingle, meet new people as royalty, but these two men were to compete with each other to win Zayn’s hand, to win his affection. To essentially, win his heart.

“Your Highness,” Prince Liam starts, bowing. Zayn blinks at him, startled. He bows in return, a common gesture made out of respect. “I’ve been eager to meet you.”

“Erm,” Lost for words, Zayn’s eyes narrow and he tries to meet Louis’ gaze once more for assistance.

“I’m positive this ball will give us the opportunity to get to know each other more.” There’s a pause, Prince Liam standing before him with his hands behind his back, beaming at him, a smile on his mouth.

“Right,” Zayn trails off, eyesight drifting and he ends up locking eyes with Prince Niall. He appears full of conversation, excitement twinkling behind those blue irises and Zayn has to look away quickly, growing feverish with the thought of having to talk to--well, anyone. “Please excuse me.”

He darts out of the room then, desperate to get away from the many pairs of prying eyes. Once Louis had gotten over his confusion, he too, darted out of the room into the hallway. Zayn is there, doubled over, hands on his knees and his head in his lap.

“I cannot do this, your grace.” He admits, breathless. He stands up straighter, leaning against the wall. “It’s exhausting.”

 

* * *

 

The following day, Zayn has his morning breakfast without a sight of Prince Harry and House Styles. The guards mention nothing of his arrival and Zayn picks at raspberries absentmindedly, staring deeply into space. The tip of his forefinger runs along the rim of his tea, the steam warming the inside of his palm.

Prince Harry had become a mystery, like a phantom that everyone knew, everyone talked about but had never seen. Zayn had overheard two ladies during a game of squash, gossiping while holding their dogs.

“Did you hear that Prince Harry was in the navy?” one had asked.

“The navy?” Inquired the other while stroking her dogs head with gloved hands. “In America?”

The woman nodded and her friend appeared exasperated. “Boy traveled by boat.” There was a pause and she had pressed her lips together, clutching her dog to her chest. She glanced around the room and leaned in close to her friend. Zayn had to perk up his ears enough to get the rest of the conversation. “I also heard he has a tattoo to prove it.”

Gasping, the other woman giggled, “You must be joking.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

All the speculation around Prince Harry was nothing but a mystery to Zayn.

Luckily, he is able to dodge the two Princes for the rest of the day, excusing himself when necessary and fleeing into the loo or the next room to escape. There was something about sitting there, engaging with the two of them to see who he liked better. But there was no spark like Zayn thought there would be. There were only painful awkward encounters with Prince Liam’s stiffness. And Prince Niall--well, Zayn had gathered that Niall was kind-spirited but they simply lacked was a connection.

Guests began to arrive to the party around six, and by seven the manor’s ballroom was full of people, chatter, and booze. Champagne flutes were served regularly and Zayn wove in and around circles of guests often enough he wasn't part of any particular conversation. This spared him the effort of having to talk to people and he was able to get enough drink in him to feel good and buzzed.

And he had just snagged another flute when he heard it.

“Did you see Prince Harry? By god, isn’t he the most handsome man you have ever seen?”

Zayn freezes, lips around the rim of his glass, eavesdropping in a haze with his back toward the ladies.

“I _know._ He even kissed my hand.”

“He kissed my hand too!”

When had Prince Harry arrived? The answer seems to escape him, getting lost just like Zayn had done to his own suitors. Perhaps there was nothing special about Prince Harry, but to Zayn, he seemed to be on the tip of everyone’s tongue, the talk of the estate. What was so special about Prince Harry? Zayn purses his lips and sets down the flute, searching contemplatively into the crowd. Where was he and why hadn’t Zayn been introduced yet?

He sets off to find Louis and finds him at the corner of the room with a lady. Louis has her smiling, drink in both their hands and when she spots Zayn nearing them, she bows.

Zayn nods at her politely before addressing Louis, “Any word on Prince Harry?”

“Yes, your Highness. I had arrived nearly an hour ago. I wished to inform you but you appeared to be in a hurry for… something.”

Sensing Louis’ sarcasm, Zayn hums and turns away from him, unamused and disinterested. He looks about the room again, all here in his honor, or perhaps King Yaser’s honor. The three houses occupy the manor, mingling, and drinking, and Zayn scans the crowd as if he’d be able to find Prince Harry somewhere, somehow.

Instead, someone taps Zayn shoulder and when he turns, Zayn visibly deflates.

“Your Highness,” Prince Niall bows, two drinks in his hand and he holds one out for Zayn. Considering it, Zayn takes the drink after a moment with a small smile, bringing it up to his lips and the burn of whiskey slides down his throat. “You looked lonely.”

Zayn laughs a little, cradling the glass in his hand. He places the empty champagne flute onto a passing servant’s tray. “I’m used to being lonely, your Highness. But thank you.”

He bows before him, “Of course.” Licking his lips, Niall continues, “Would you like to dance?”

“I--I’m not much of a dancer,” Zayn laughs nervously, backing slowly with his hand up defensively. He bumps into the person behind him and Zayn breaks out into a series of apologies before flashing Niall an apologetic smile and breaking out into a jog to get out of the room.

Zayn continues down the hallway and opens the third door on his left, closing the door shut behind him. In the dark, Zayn leans against the door to steady his harsh breathing, heart beating in his ears. Finally, he lets out a long sigh, sweat dotting his forehead. When he regains some of his breathing, Zayn’s able to study the room he chose; the study is mostly used for clergymen, business, and other important matters when a group of men came by and waited to see the King. He flicks on the nearest light, the soft glow creating a charming orange to brighten up the space. Commotion starts from outside the hallway, and curiously Zayn cracks the door open, peering out from the inside and he gets a quick glimpse of Prince Liam strutting.

The door connecting to the next room opens then, startling Zayn and he closes the door out to the hallway sharply shut. Leaning against the door, Zayn watches as Prince Harry leads three girls into the room, all stumbling, all giggling as they clutch onto their glasses. Harry’s hair is damp and pushed off his forehead, collar unbuttoned and exposing the flesh of his chest and the acuteness of his collarbones. It is almost too obvious that he is drunk.

Zayn blinks at the sight, bringing his bottom lip into his mouth as his heart beats against his ribs. Harry doesn’t seem to notice him at first, his ring clad fingers gripping around the rim of his glass, ice clanking as he moves about, face red from laughing. When Harry does finally pick his up and meet Zayn’s eyes, his mouth twitches and the smile on his face falters slightly. Their gaze never wavers and Zayn swallows hard as Harry straightens his shoulders.

“Ladies,” Harry begins, his voice deep. “I’d like some alone time with Prince Zayn.”

The girls break out into soft whispers among themselves before curtseying and exiting out of the room. Once they are alone, Zayn can feel the tension emitting off of Harry, his fingertips buzzing. He looked as handsome as everyone made him out to be, so stunning there, putting his glass down on the bookshelf and putting his hands into his pockets. Shoulders drawn, Harry crosses the room and Zayn feels himself become small, almost sinking into the wood. Harry keeps his distance, leaning against the wall, studying him. The intensity of Harry’s gaze is almost too much, exposing Zayn and all of his vulnerabilities. He shies away, hands behind his back, shoulders hunched and chin down. Prince Harry definitely lived up to his mysterious reputation.

“Is everything alright,” there’s a pause mid-sentence, Harry licking his lips. His eyes drag over him when he finishes, “your Highness?”  

All of Zayn’s words are caught in his mouth, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “Yes,” he whispers, voice smaller than he would have liked it to be. Harry seemed to be subtly amused by this, with the way that he smiles a little, but his eyes go softer. He lets the silence stretch, body relaxing into him.

“Have you been hiding, your Highness?”

Zayn’s lips part at their close proximity, shyly considering being honest. “Perhaps,” he starts slowly, hands unfolding from his back and resting at his sides. He straightens his back, growing defensive in an attempt to build confidence. “But I don’t think that is any of your business.”

Harry barks out a laugh, clearly pleased by Zayn’s answer. He crosses his arms over his chest, suit navy blue and Zayn wonders just what he would have looked like in a sailors outfit. “Excuse me, your Highness, but I don’t think that is correct. This party is for you. But it is also for me.”

“For you?”

“Yes,” Harry stands up straight again, fetching his drink and taking a sip before holding it out to Zayn. He doesn’t know whether or not to take a sip too, whether that would be appropriate or not, but Harry was in America during his time in the navy, so Zayn chances a swing at the whiskey anyway. He tries to pay attention to Harry as he winces from the burn all the way down his throat, “What happens then if I win your hand? The party would be celebrating the pair of us.”

Zayn furrows his brow at that, having not thought of it like that. “Uh,” Words fail him, evaporating from his brain and Harry looks so ecstatic as he takes the empty glass right out of Zayn’s hand.

“I’ve heard from the other princes that you like to hide,” Harry continues, pushing his hair back away from his face before buttoning his shirt back up to his collar. He walks to the oval mirror hanging on the adjacent wall and Zayn watches him as Harry adjusts himself to become decent to the royal eye. Zayn vaguely wonders then if the rumors are true. And if they were, Zayn wondered where Harry’s naval tattoo was and lets his gaze skim over Harry’s body.

After a moment of silence, Zayn’s gaze returns to Harry’s eyes to find him smirking, a small curve on one corner of his mouth. Zayn presses his lips together as his face reddens but he does not look away from him, though he does sink further into the door.

Harry smoothes out the front of his shirt and approaches Zayn again, and this time Zayn could smell the alcohol on his breath as he speaks, “How do I look?”

Zayn swallows thickly as Prince Harry licks his lips. “Handsome.”

Harry must not expect that kind of answer and he breaks out into a charming smile. “As do you, your Highness.” He reaches for Zayn’s hand, kissing the back of his palm. Harry’s lips are soft and moist, and Zayn’s stomach clenches with the thought of feeling them somewhere else. He holds out his arm then for Zayn, and he takes it, holding Prince Harry close and clutching his shoulder.

Zayn is lead out into the hallway in a daze. It’s as if Prince Harry’s touch had sent him into a whirlwind or perhaps it was the glass of whiskey that made everything feel so stuffy. His stomach lurches as they stride down the hallway and Harry pushes open the double doors back into the ballroom.

It was like Zayn hadn’t noticed before how packed the room was. The party was in full swing, music playing harmoniously, and samples of food and drink were being handed out on trays from servants. It was like looking at the world through a whole new lens. But of course, he was undeniably drunk.

But Harry held him tightly as they wove past strings of people, making sure their arms were locked.

Though, Harry also says hello to every single one of them.

“Good evening Mrs. Alby!” Harry exclaims when they reach an elderly woman, her pink hat decorated with butterflies. Zayn has no idea who Ms. Alby is. “I hope that all is well with you?”

“Yes, Prince Harry.” She takes him by the cheeks and kisses both. Zayn smirks at the sight of Harry’s cheeks squished together, his lips pouted. “What a gentleman,” She says to Zayn, a soft chuckle escaping her mouth and he lets out a nervous chuckle of his own.

“You’re quite popular,” Zayn mumbles to Harry when they part with Mrs. Alby. Harry grabs another flute of champagne from the moving tray of drinks.

“Yes,” Harry tells him, smile wide. “You know, old people seem to find me rather charming.”

Zayn didn’t doubt that.

 

It is only an hour later when Zayn’s buzz wears off. Feeling sluggish, he sits in one corner of the room, Harry sitting next to him on the small sofa, their thighs touching. A few feet in front of them, a man and a woman start kissing, their lips locking slowly, delectable licks of their tongues dipping into each other's mouth for a taste. Zayn had kissed a lady before, but it had been chaste and foolish. Zayn had not been interested in such matters, still wasn’t.

But.

Zayn keeps watching unapologetically. He does not avert his gaze when the man places his hand on the small of her back, nails digging into the intricate fabric of her dress.  

“You’re being a bit of a pervert,” Harry whispers next to him and Zayn’s gaze falls into his lap, ashamed. There’s a pause, idle chatter and clacking are heard throughout the room. “Have you never been with someone intimately before?”

“I am not betrothed to anyone, your Highness.” Zayn reminds him, glancing shyly up at Harry through his lashes.

“Fell in love?” Harry inquires, getting closer. Their noses are almost touching then and Zayn shivered at the thought of anyone being coherent enough to witness and comprehend the two princes risky behavior.

“Those are foolish matters.”

“Says the bookworm.” Harry stands up then with a grunt. He dusts off his pants and bows to Zayn, “I must bid you a goodnight now.”

Zayn frowns. “Excuse me?”

“It is getting very late,” He says as he reaches into his coat pocket, clicking his pocket-watch open. “I do need my beauty sleep. It’s how I stay so good looking.”

Laughing softly, Zayn becomes enchanted by Harry’s smile, the chopped loose waves that fall into his green eyes. He is very good looking, Zayn admits to himself. He nods, bidding Harry a goodnight and watches as Harry turns and disappears into the throng of aristocrats.

Louis plops down next to Zayn in a huff and scaring the shit out of him. “What a night,” Louis breathes, leaning back into the seat. Zayn catches Louis side-eye. “Don’t you think? Prince Liam was trying to find the perfect moment to sweep in. The poor bloke came around a couple of times hoping Prince Harry would have lost his attention. And I think Prince Niall lost interest in you.”

“That’s too bad,” Zayn sighs, crossing his legs. He lifts his gaze to where the couple was seen kissing only to have found that they have gone.  

“Yes,” Louis agrees, patting Zayn’s knee. “Too bad indeed.”

 

* * *

 

At breakfast, Harry is the only prince that doesn’t attend breakfast. Prince Niall and Liam sit at the table, eating heartily and Zayn’s mimosa upsets his stomach, too anxious with the way that King Yaser glares at him from the other end of the table.

“Prince Harry has gone with the hunt. They will return his afternoon.” King Yaser announces over coffee and Zayn nibbles at his strawberry, pensively gazing into milky tea. He sits in silence though chatter among him commenced, Zayn couldn’t find the strength to join in himself. And eventually after breakfast, Zayn retires to the library in an attempt to miss Prince Niall and Prince Liam too distracted to deal with their antics of starting a conversation with him. Interaction exhausted Zayn and he had needed a breather, a moment to himself amongst all of this matchmaking business. And more importantly, take a breather from the whiplashing Prince Harry. His presence feels like a dream; foggy, distant, and almost too good to be true.

Louis had entered the library several hours later, his hands behind his back and lips curled like there was something he was hiding.

“The King requests your presence, your Highness.”

Zayn groans, rolling his eyes and peering at Louis above his book. Sitting on the floor with a stack of books next to him, being requested by a suitor was the last thing Zayn wanted. A quip threatens to fall from his mouth, but he sits up from the floor and is escorted by guards to the King.

When he arrives in the garden, Prince Harry is sat at the table with King Yaser, both laughing with a cup of tea in front of them and cigarettes in their hand. It is unusual for the King to offer evening tea and Zayn enters with caution, his brows furrowed and his stance defensive. He crosses his arms behind his back, chin slightly up and Zayn narrows his eyes as he looks between the two of them.

Harry looks absolutely delighted and beams at the sight of Zayn, crossing his legs and raising his glass to him.

“Your Majesty,” Zayn begin, bowing. “You requested me.”

“Yes,” the King says with a chuckle. With a wave of his hand, a servant brings an extra teacup and saucer, “Prince Harry thought it wise for you to join us.” Another chair is pulled up directly across from Prince Harry and when Zayn sits, he mixes his sugar in his cup to try and find something to say.

“How thoughtful of him,” Zayn says, nodding in Prince Harry’s direction and Harry nods politely back.

“We will gather before dinner to announce your new husband,” the King informs him. Zayn chances a look at Prince Harry only to find him lightly smirking and popping a raspberry into his mouth. Zayn’s stomach flips at the intensity of his gaze. “I trust that you have chosen by now.”

“Yes,” Zayn’s voice is small and although he’s blushing furiously at the sight of Harry licking his forefinger, he stands by his moral decision despite the current situation. “Yes,” Zayn says again and downs his tea.

 

He does not see Prince Harry for the rest of the hour. The time ticks away quickly, anxiety bubbling at Zayn’s chest on his decision. Everything depends on Zayn getting married, on choosing a husband and producing an heir. There’s a distant pressure deep within the pit of his stomach, an ache he just can’t quench. If Zayn chooses to wed, what happens then? He marries and then he fades into the background again, untouched, unloved. But marriage was not for love. His husband didn’t have to love him and Zayn didn’t have to love him back.

Politics. It’s always about politics.

Louis leads him later into the throne hall, packed with a crowd of people from last nights party and from their respective houses. They stand as royalty while the rest of people begin filing into the room, the princes kneeling at the front. The reality of it all starts to settle into Zayn and he studies the three men before him; Prince Niall, Prince Liam, and lastly, Prince Harry. All rather beautiful men, but could they ever make him happy? All Liam and Niall had done were make Zayn feel awkward or anxious. And Prince Harry had spent the most time with him, a very strange but very charming young man.

“Attention!” King Yaser bellows and all chatter comes to a quiet. Zayn waits impatiently. “I would like to thank all of you for being here today. And I hope that you all had a good time last night.” There are some laughs that break through the crowd and King Yaser breaks out into a smile. “I have invited these three Houses--Horan, Payne, and Styles, as a means for my son to find a husband.” He turns away from the crowd then to find Zayn’s eyes and he beckons him forward.

There’s nothing but silence. Everyone waits. Zayn steps forward slowly, breathing unsteady. The moment of truth. “And I choose,” He says slowly, heart beating fast in his chest. His father’s stare is daunting, never mind the stares of the three princes before him. It is a pivotal moment in his life, in history, and the lives of the men before him. All of them had gone out of their way, traveled here in order to swoon Zayn. “No one.”

The room breaks out into chatter, lords, and ladies murmuring amongst themselves. Prince Liam looks down into his hands, eyes closed. Prince Niall glances between the King and Zayn for an answer. But Zayn is most drawn to Harry, who brings his hand up to his mouth to hide a small smile and soft laughter.

“That’s enough!” The King bellows and the crowd instantly goes quiet except for whispers here and there. He turns to Zayn, fire in his eyes and fear floods through him. Louis catches his gaze from the other side of the room, brows furrow and worry painted clear on his face. This was not good at all. “You must excuse me. I need a moment alone with my son. We will choose which one of you fine princes will be my son’s husband and then we will feast.”

As he turns, the King grips Zayn’s shoulder sharply, leading him into the next room. Louis and two guards follow them out. Once the door is shut, the King lets out a sigh and wipes at his brow. Zayn waits for his father to meet his eyes, hands at his sides.

“This is unacceptable,” King Yaser says then, voice low and dangerous. His eyes are dark, expression chilling. He then turns on Zayn to Louis. “You said you would find him a husband.”

Louis looks alarmed at being addressed,“Yes, your Majesty--”

“This has nothing to do with Lord Louis, your Majesty,” Zayn recovers quickly, diffusing the tension toward his friend. “I am not ready to be wed--”

“Well, you better get ready quickly, my son.” The King bellows, stepping toward Zayn and everything about the way his limbs move strike as alarming. “One of these men will be your husband. And if you do not choose, I will choose for you.” He turns toward one of the guards, nodding and they prepare to exit back to face the crowd, forcing Zayn to follow.

King Yaser stands before the crowd, Zayn hesitatingly standing next to him. “You must excuse Prince Zayn,” he begins, “He is quite nervous.” The joke sets the crowd off into soft laughter and Zayn looks down in embarrassment, his cheeks and ears reddening.

“Prince Niall of House Horan,”

Zayn picks his head up in alarm, eyes wide.

“I would like you to do the honors and wed my son.”

Prince Niall’s expression is of shock. But he recovers, a smile appearing on his mouth as he stands from kneeling and approaches the King, shaking his hand. Zayn watches the exchange, stomach lurching. Prince Liam looks away, jaw clenching in defeat. But Prince Harry stays kneeling, watching Prince Niall and King Yaser’s exchange. But when his gaze drifts and he meets Zayn’s eyes, there almost seems to be disappointment behind hidden in his stare. And then something quite unusual happens. Harry smiles at him from across the room. Not one of his big smiles that shows off the indents of his dimples, not one that allows his teeth to shine through, but a soft and gentle smile. A smile that tugs at the end of Zayn’s heartstrings so strong that he brings a hand over his heart, the breath leaving his chest.

“Wait,” Zayn interrupts, the chattering crowd dying and returning their attention to him. King Yaser glares at him and Niall releases their handshake, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. Zayn swallows thickly, despising having the attention all on him. “Prince Harry,” he says, and Harry’s brow furrows at him in question. The whole room is staring at Zayn, but he cannot tear his eyes away from Harry. “I choose Prince Harry.”

Shock must have settled into the crowd, as they all remain silent. Harry’s shoulders pull back and he stands from his place of kneeling. Prince Niall looks to King Yaser for an answer, eyes frantic. King Yaser smiles, lets out a nervous laugh and bows slightly to the rejected prince. Forlorn, Prince Niall gives the King a bow and steps back to his place of kneeling.

Harry approaches the King, tall and confident. But his face is gentle and humble, a proud but not arrogant smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. The confusion evaporates and the crowd breaks out into cheers, Harry turning towards them and bowing. Zayn’s heartaches, out of sadness or apprehension he doesn’t know. He watches Harry achingly, longingly, pensively.

A thousand and one feelings come rushing through him.

 

* * *

 

Harry looks very beautiful in white.

After Zayn had chosen Harry as his husband, the crowd retired to feast. House Payne left the estate before eating. House Horan had stayed, but by morning they had packed up and gave their blessings. House Styles moved into the premises, carriages arriving filled with clothes, dogs, and other goods. The next day, the clergymen came, and Harry and Zayn were in that room again, this time in the day with the window open and light pouring through, and they had signed their marriage license. Zayn was a married man now.

And now, standing before him was Harry. Harry and a priest speaking Latin.

It all happened too quickly.

When the night is finally over, they retire to their bedroom. Maids help them out of their clothes, leaving them in their undergarments. Harry watches as they undress Zayn, eyes dark and intense.

“You can leave,” Harry says slowly after a while, instructing the maids with a wave of his hand and his gaze on Zayn.

The maids nod and promptly exit the room, leaving Zayn and Harry, his husband. The silence is deafening and Zayn’s fingers fidget with the end of his undershirt. Harry licks his lips, eyes half-lidded and dark. He blinks slow and Zayn’s chest feels too tight. He is a married man now. Harry and he will be Kings when King Yaser passes, and they are expected to have a family, an heir, to continue their bloodline and namesake. Zayn read books of marriage and romance, he always knew that he would have to come to that point in his life too. But he never thought that time would come so soon, that it would happen so fast. King Yaser had ordered Lord Louis to assist Zayn in finding a husband and he had done his job right. But what now?

“Zayn,” Harry says, startling Zayn out of his stupor. But he knows what comes next. He is meant to be put to bed. And that is enough nerves to make his skin crawl. Harry steps toward him and Zayn exhale softly when Harry runs the back of his hand against his cheek. There's an anchor tattoo on the outside of Harry's wrist and several littering his bare chest just underneath his collarbone. From this close, Harry smells like sweat and expensive French cologne. Zayn chances a look up at him, lips parted. Their eyes meet and Harry runs his hand down Zayn’s cheek, down his shoulder and finds his hand to interlock their fingers. Harry’s hand is warm and moist but he presses their hands together so that their palms are completely touching. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do." He tells him, soft and sincere. There's a beat before Harry presses his forehead to his, and Zayn let's out a sigh, closing his eyes. How different things were now? He lets Harry kiss him. His lips were soft and inviting, and they kiss slowly and deeply. Harry's hands roam up Zayn's dress shirt and press into his back, his hands cool on Zayn's hot skin. He tugs on the fabric and Zayn allows him to pull the shirt off. "You're so beautiful." He mutters and Zayn whimpers at the compliment. 

They notice how hard Zayn becomes, his dick tenting his pants and Harry runs a big hand over it, jerking him off through the thin fabric. Zayn moans close to Harry's ear, nuzzling into his neck and kissing there softly. Harry's other hand comes around to squeeze Zayn's ass before he pulls them apart enough to have Zayn look him in the eyes, tilting his chin up with his knuckle. 

"I've never been with anyone before," Zayn admits, voice low and shy. Harry smiles at him, running a hand through Zayn's hair, stimulating his head and his crotch. Reaching into his pants, Harry pulls out Zayn's cock. "This feels good."

"Good," Harry tells him, petting his hair. "I want to make you feel good. You can tell me when to stop." 

Zayn hums at that, allowing Harry to pull him by the wrist and lead him to the bed. He rests on his back while Harry kneels on all fours, leaving wet kisses along his chest, flicking his tongue over his nipples. Head back, Zayn moans aloud into the dimly lit room and when he meets Harry's eyes again, he looks absolutely mesmerized.

"My prince," Harry says, dragging the back of his hand over Zayn's cheek before dipping his fingers into Zayn's mouth. Zayn moans around them, Harry's free hand finding Zayn's cock again and jerks him off excruciatingly slow. "My sweet prince." There's a bludge in Harry's pants and Zayn could see when Harry's dick twitches, just waiting to break free. Zayn licks his lips and reaches forward, brushing his hand over the hard mound and a hum starts in Harry's chest, eyelashes fluttering. He starts to unbuckle Harry's pants and Harry lets him, momentarily releasing his grip on Zayn's dick for Zayn to undress him. 

Zayn cannot look away when Harry tugs the rest of his pants off to the floor. His body is white and firm, dark ink scattered about as his proof of his naval services. "The rumors are true," Zayn teases, touching a fern leaf just by Harry's hip. Harry lets out a breathy laugh at that, placing his hand just over Zayn's and guiding him down to his erection. 

"Does it feel good?" Harry asks, assisting Zayn in getting him off. 

Words lost, Zayn nods and licks his lips, his free hand touching his own thigh and skimming over the head of his dick, begging to be touched again. 

"I want to try something else," Harry says then, removing Zayn's hand from his member and crouching down onto him, their bodies pressing together. Their bodies were so warm now and the licks of Harry's tongue on Zayn's neck was wonderful, the small nips of his teeth at his sensitive flesh made his body hum. But then Harry kept kissing him, lower and lower each time until the licks were swiped across the head of his cock and Zayn moans loudly, his fingers tangling in Harry's hair. And without really meaning to, Zayn guides Harry's head down his cock and Harry takes him sweetly into his mouth. 

And God is it the best feeling in the world. 

Harry moans at Zayn's enthusiasm, the way Zayn buckles his hips up to keep the rhythm going in the sweet and delectable wetness of Harry's mouth. And then Harry wraps a hand around the base of Zayn's dick and it's almost too much. His mouth sucks and his hand pumping, Zayn grips hard at Harry's curls and face fucks him without meaning to. But Harry lets him, a hand dragging up Zayn's chest, fingers flicking at his nipples. 

A loud moan erupts from Zayn's chest. With his other hand, he grips at the bed sheets. The other pushes Harry's head down and Zayn comes in his mouth. 

After a moment of Harry's nose pressed into Zayn's lower abdomen, his eyes squeezed shut, he emerges to the surface and swallows hard. Breathing heavily, there's a shiny drop of cum on Harry's red and puffy top lip. Zayn whimpers again, watching the swipe of Harry's tongue and then the shimmering gem of cum is gone. Harry's cheeks are bright, his cock incredibly still and hard, and Harry just won't stop gazing at him. 

"Do you want to try something else?" He asks hoarsely and Zayn nods, body glistening with sweat.

Harry licks two fingers.

* * *

7 years later.

 

Giggles are echoing all throughout the garden as the children run, tiny feet hitting the dirt and kicking up grass as they go. Harry follows behind them, growling and grunting playfully, pretending to stalk them. The children scream in delight and Zayn smiles from his place underneath the tree. Away from the sun, Zayn sits on a blanket in the garden, watching with a hand on his belly. He brings up a strawberry to his lips and chews mindfully with a book opened to his right and Louis sitting to his left. 

Harry comes running back to the blanket, placing a kiss on Zayn's mouth before he sits with a long sigh. "They tire me out, those ones," he says and Zayn feeds him the rest of his strawberry.

"Don't worry," Louis grins, getting up. He dusts off his coat before proudly saying, "I'll take care of them." He runs off, the children start screaming again, and both Harry and Zayn break out into laughter. 

When the laughter dies and Harry begins eating fruit, his lips turning pinker, Zayn watches him silently. His hair had gotten longer, his dark waves just touching his cheekbones. Zayn touches him lightly and Harry meets his eyes, smile soft as Zayn tucks the stray lock behind Harry's ear. 

"I love you," he tells Harry for the first time. 

Harry doesn't respond right away. He studies Zayn, eyes intense but bright and licks his lips before placing his hand on the back of Zayn's head to bring him into a kiss. "What a beautiful family I have," Harry murmurs, bringing his hand to Zayn's stomach. Zayn sighs happily while Harry feeds him another strawberry, they watch their children, their future heirs, run along the grassy plane. 

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to zarryficexchange@tumblr. thank you so much. it's always a pleasure.


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